


Obliviate - the lost week

by RVWells



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:15:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27104062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RVWells/pseuds/RVWells
Summary: Losing hope feels like melting snow on your heart. Grey. Embracing. Dad and mom, gone; the sword, missing; only one horcrux under your grasp after months of hunting them: you just missed the chance to kill other, while breaking Harry's wand on the run, and with it, the frail leverage it provided. At dawn or twilight, freezing under the covers despite the glass stored blue flames, you are reminded by the colors of the sky of the friend you thought could love you as a girl. You, as Harry, probably will never again meet your red-headed favorites before dying.So when Harry kisses you in a rush, surprising you with the warmth and thrill and breath of life the gesture conveys, you wonder how farthest you can go, and if your friendship would stand it.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 37
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Most of "Obliviate" is supposed to happen around the eighteenth and nineteenth chapters of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, and elaborate from there. I alternate my scenes with Rowlings' at the beginning, there are clues to guide you. According to this fic there are more than two days between Christmas Eve and Ron's return, though I know it's not canon (I might place the scenes sooner, but I really think I'd have to force the characters, they weren't ready for this yet). Harry does find the sword at its proper time, but it's Hermione who takes him out of the freezing water (I guess it would have happened this way, had Ron gone "kip under a tree" as he was thinking of doing… and yes, I know it's also possible Harry would have died). It eventually fit better than I planned. You'll see.
> 
> The idea is to dance around the canon, so it doesn't contradict what Rowlings wrote and I can believe in both simultaneously.
> 
> Beware, this fic is erotic in nature, though it won't start that way as I'll try to give them time to adapt. There is a lot of real medical data, Billings is real for example, but I'm not recommending it unless you plan to use it seriously and get trained for it. Under no circumstance you must sexfriend anyone, it rarely feels right even while it's ongoing. It's amusing to write and to read about it, though.
> 
> All rights go to JKRowling, with my deepest regards, depite our serious differences. As Harry, Hermione and I grew together, they marked my existence.
> 
> I've written lots of fanfics though this is my first harmione. Also, English is not my mother tongue, so you might notice some mistakes, mainly in grammar; correct me if you do. Be kind, though.
> 
> This is dedicated to my 13-years-old self, the girl who shrieked each time she watched that scene in which Harry held Hermione's petrified hand

*Endings and beginnings*

They walked side-by-side along the castle, now emptied of dead bodies, whose same absence reminded them of their losses. The floor had naked places where big stains of blood could still be seen, and corners with irregular islands of splinters. The empty plinths where suits of armors used to be, reinforced the acute perception of change, of loneliness. But there was comfort in being in solitude together. They didn't speak. Too tired. Too hurt. Just Ron had returned downstairs, not able to leave his family alone, now.

Hermione had no family, and Harry suddenly had too many people to attend to.

For the first time, she thought of telling him. Not that she remembered much, most of the details were now –had been for a while- silvery blue gas-liquid twisting in a phial at the bottom of her magically enlarged purse; but the witch hadn't been obliviated still, therefore her mind retained the map, the empty places where those particular memories fit.

'He has a right to know', the ginger-haired teen thought, without a shadow of doubt.

And she kept walking, in silence.

Consequences. As much as the girl despised herself for that, she had had to think in a calculating way, much as Dumbledore had at his times. Consequences now were somehow different than before. The violent splitting of the golden trio was no longer a threaten to their mission, and therefore to the world, since it was –against all odds- already accomplished; but the memory of the three of them in the headmaster's office –maybe, for the last time- filled her with nostalgia, and as much as she knew everything would change now, she wasn't eager to cause the change, or more pain to the Weasleys, or to be the center of everyone's hate.

Ginny. The younger witch was now wrecked, his favorite brother killed and the remaining twin, just a reminder of what was split and broken forever. The red-haired teen might now not think of having Harry out for a date; but as she healed, she would expect them to come together naturally, resuming from where they had left. Hermione knew the green-eyed wizard would like that too, very much. The idea of them together was so natural to Harry's female friend, that most of her rejoiced for him, and cringed to the thought of taking them apart.

He didn't know. Thankfully. No guilt: not hers nor his. The idea was relieving, and made her feel assured, and as cold as winter camping in south England.

If Harry knew, if he learned, he wouldn't give his future with Ginny another thought. He would stand by Hermione, much as he had walked into the forbidden forest not twenty-four hours earlier, to meet his death, because it was the right thing to do. Maybe he would do so willingly, because he was her friend, because he'd always stand by her –and she was tempted to think so, since he had left the dining room with them, not with Ginny-; but things were too mingled, there was no way to extricate his reasons once the decision was taken. And his decision was already written in stone, if Hermione told him, if she gave him back his memories. The girl wouldn't obliviate him again, nor could she control the spreading of news and the reaction of other people.

Ron. Hermione already regretted the impulse of prizing his momentary thoughtfulness. The part of her that had left her memories in the forest of Dean, had accepted it as the logic next step. She was with Ron, Harry was with Ginny, they lived happily ever after. Now, the witch worried over Harry's (over?) reaction to it.

"Harry…"

He looked at her, rings evident around his unusual eyes. He was listening.

"The Elder Wand… Why don't you keep its location to yourself, as you did with the stone?"

"I'm not telling it to anyone else" Harry answered, too tired to wonder her reasons to ask.

"Someone wise said once that the only way for a secret to stay secret, being shared by three people, is by two of them being dead" Hermione mentioned. They walked some meters before she clarified, in a whisper: "Ron knows".

For the briefest of moments, their eyes met, and the witch knew he understood. Ron's poor self-esteem was a big weakness, for him, for them. They might be nearly a couple now, but she wasn't blind, nor was she putting Harry –her friend too, equally valuable to her– at risk by not giving him this advice. Ron had left Harry alone at least two times, at delicate moments. Among the three Deathly Hallows, Ron had chosen the Elder Wand, even before they knew for a fact it existed; the longing in his voice just minutes ago when the object had been mentioned, had been soft but unmistakable to people who had known him for the third part of their lives; and the legendary power was an Expelliarmus away. And Ron, hurt, was not trustworthy. Harry couldn't remember a reason powerful enough for Ron to betray him (once again), even if just by disarming him, but Hermione knew of one.

"I'd rather trust" he answered simply.

While the fat lady turned, revealing the entrance to their common room, their arms brushed, and the girl was momentarily breathless.

"Harry" she stopped him once again, this time grabbing his hand.

He turned, obviously puzzled. Their closeness stirred the shadow of a memory she no longer had. The witch got over it quickly.

"You know you'll have to be extremely careful, for your death to break the Wand's power. No Auror training. Not even a friendly duel."

He sighed and nodded.

For a long, long time, they stayed there, just lingering.

Hermione was not used to secrecy with her friends, now secrets estranged her from both and it killed her. Harry had a right to know. However, there was no way of protecting him from the consequences of the truth, unless she retained it. Telling him or not, every decision would have consequences.

"Hermione" he whispered at last, just slightly closer to her, "is there something else you want to tell me?"

The girl looked into his eyes, and shook her head, dropping his hand.

She would just have to deal with consequences, at least until this all was over, until she could be obliviated herself. So she would, the witch knew, as she left Harry enter his dorm, unaware of her cursed gift.


	2. December 25th

Hermione watched her corpse on the full body mirror. No divination required: the candlelight gave her skin a yellowish color, and shadows enough, and her clothes still smelled of Bathilda's. So as she stripped to take a much needed shower (one she liked to imagine would take off more than the odor), she took on the sight, trying to accept the only future the brightest witch of their age could predict. No sentimentalism involved. That is, nothing but overwhelming fear.

She could leave, disapparate to another country and hide. She could even try to return to Hogwarts. The teen knew Harry had also thought of doing so, the temptation evident sometimes in the way he regarded the map, even though it was, for him, utterly impossible. The wise girl, instead, might be protected both because of her talent and because of her friendship with him; there was no way of knowing for sure but her apparent loyalty to the new regime could be certainly used to manipulate the public. If death eaters were so politically wise, was yet to be known.

Half naked now, the enchantress absently caressed the skin of her arms, the chill making her fully aware that she was, still, alive.

Hermione could leave, but she wouldn't.

Unlike Ron.

The witch hated him so very much sometimes, the long years of friendship and the embryonic semblance of courting they had shared were forcefully kicked to the back of her mind. She couldn't believe she was still open to the possibility of loving him, of spending with him all of her nights of passion, of carrying his (traditionally numerous) kids and raising them with him and his spoony emotional depth. The girl honestly couldn't see a single reason for that right now. Most warmth had left with Ron's jokes, and she was growing tired of playing Penelope.

She wondered fleetingly if the death eaters were to rape her after or before having used the forbidden courses on her.

Taking off the rest of her clothes, Hermione stepped to the shower. She only hoped she'd find something helpful in Skeeter's borrowed book.

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Her fingers itched where they had touched Harry's hair, and Hermione closed her hand before taking the book in it to lay it on the table, her other hand being occupied with her tea cup. The witch wondered if she must read it fully. They didn't have lots of clues as to where to go next, and they needed one badly.

The steps in the entrance of the tent surprised her.

"Hermione…" Harry called.

She turned as his hand went through his hair again. Her wand was negligently held in the other hand. The girl thought that, in his current state of mind, an entire squad of death eaters would step through the entrance of the tent without him noticing until they pushed him to the side.

"I'm… I'm not at my best… I just… I wanted to be sure… you know… those words… the… anger… wasn't directed at you…"

He stopped, his darting eyes telling her that he was terrified. Of what, she didn't know at first, but then lighting struck, and as her mind's eye saw Ron disapparating from their lives, the witch understood. How frantic he must have been, of her leaving as well. Hermione suddenly felt ashamed of herself, for not noticing that, even if she seemed to be more affected, he had also lost his best friend.

"I won't leave, Harry" she said firmly, then took some steps forward and hugged him.

A single drop fell on her shoulder, and he dried his face with his hand before hiding it in her bushy hair. 'What a pair', Hermione thought. The witch often had to hide her own feelings, for the others to remain calm, to understand reason; like minutes ago, when the girl had defended Dumbledore even though, despite the truth in her own words, she felt, once again, betrayed. It was tiring for a role, and often lead her to feel lonely and to think less of male friends who understood close to nothing. But of course they did. Half the time, she hid her feelings purposely.

"It's just…" his voice wasn't ragged or anything, but she could tell he was controlling it. "I don't think I could do this all alone" he said finally. "I'd have to, but…"

He stared into her eyes, and then he did the strangest thing.

He kissed her.

Earth stopped turning as Hermione's head started to do so. Her mind split. 'It's Harry!' part of her thought, understanding fully well what it meant: knowing him by heart, every gesture, every horrible defect all the way to the disgusting habit of sacrificing himself for others. The other part just basked in the warmth. 'So what?' this part would have said, had it wished to speak. Harry's lips were warm and dry for fear, and something melted inside of her at the thought.

But the implications… the girl couldn't even begin to think of them. The risk, for their friendship, for the mission they had given up everything for, for the relationship each of one shared with others, mostly the Weasleys who were, for the both of them, the only remaining family. Maybe, and just maybe, it would be worth it if she loved him that way, if Harry loved her back romantically; but the witch knew it wasn't that. On the other hand, it was useless to think of repercussions when it was almost a fact that they would both be dead before hurting themselves or others with their actions.

And again, this was wrong. This kiss was gratitude and fear of loss, and maybe a subconscious gesture to keep her close by drawing her closer.

When the chaste kiss stopped, Hermione found herself open-mouthed, still trying to grasp all of it.

He was, again, messing up his hair, obsessively this time. His gaze couldn't hold in a place, she was rather sure he was trying to look to her eyes but couldn't.

"Harry…"

He emitted a drowning sound, as if he was trying to speak through a stone in his throat. Then, he breathed and swallowed, and managed to say:

"Sorry"

Suddenly, he turned to leave, but her hand was on his, retaining him, making him turn back gently.

"Trust me, Harry" the witch demanded softly, deep in thought. "There is no way we can safely avoid this subject, and it's better if we evacuate it now. But nothing will break our friendship. Nothing will make me leave."

The girl saw his shoulders drop and green eyes met hers, seemingly on impulse, but stayed, as if discovering that it wasn't hard at all. Then, Hermione's mind split again, as if each of her eyes was seeing a different thing. One of them saw Harry as it had been most of the time: more than a friend and so much more than a crush: a part of her; and though she knew he wouldn't be her first choice to discuss boy subjects –mainly because he, too, was a boy-, she was also convinced that he understood more than she gave him credit for, and the witch surprised herself by knowing that this conversation wasn't about to be as hard as she initially would have thought.

"Tell me the truth, Harry… Have you ever thought about me in that way?"

He opened his mouth, hesitated, then shook his head. The girl was surprised when he resumed talking.

"I have known for a while that my best friends belong together"

The clouded mention of Ron stabbed her nonetheless, but she recovered, breathed.

"We don't" the witch said quietly. "Not anymore, anyway. I have come to accept that I probably will never see him alive again."

It was more painful, for both of them, because they knew for a fact it was true. She didn't dare mention Ginny.

"And before that? Before pairing me up with him?"

Harry thought for a moment.

"No, I don't think I have" he answered softly. "I was too young and too centered in this world I had just discovered"

So was she. She nodded.

The other part of her mind was tickling and pricking. All it thought was: 'warmth', and Hermione was chilled to her soul, had been for a long, long time. Warmth wasn't merely physical, the kiss had warmed much more than her lips. The girl had remembered the thrill of being heart-lighted, of knowing she was desired, of wanting to please, of that circle of hope and risk she wouldn't want to die without experiencing again. The mere fact of discussing this was a much welcome change regarding this depressing routine they were leading.

"Have you?" he surprised her again.

She gave it a moment of thought. She remembered the girl whose ears were full of "Harry Potter" whispers, the 11-years-old who despite having devoured the wizard books and understanding that muggles and muggle-borns and therefore herself were alive because of his existence, couldn't quite grasp the celebrity crush everyone experienced; he had been a baby after all, no more and no less. And she hadn't grown up hearing histories about him. He had also had a muggle formation, she knew he was equally dumbfounded, and lots more uncomfortable. Even when they had come close, she was as honored of being Harry Potter's friend, as he might be of having befriended the brightest student in school. None of them wanted or deserved to bear the burden of celebrity. Nonetheless, she left his romantic charms to the bunch of admirers he already had, preferring to sit back on the couch with a –back then- much lovelier book. She had never wondered if he would rather have a real thing; apparently, not, since he liked Ginny, and Hermione meant no offence but knew -all of they knew- the red-headed witch had liked him before meeting him.

"I wasn't about to compete with the rest of the girls in school, though I do judge their motives" she answered at last.

There it was: a fleeting smile; memories of school as comforting for him as they were for her. Just for a moment, she thought she could almost see grey lovely walls raising around them. She dreamed of going to the library and work on her potions homework. Weird as it might be.

Surreal enough, the familiarity of memories fit like a puzzle piece with the predicament they now faced.

"I fear…" Hermione interrupted herself, not knowing what to say. "I do understand you are scared and grateful at the same time. No matter how much I tell you that you don't need to be –that I'm here not only for you but for this world as well-, I don't think you'll get over it. That is a powerful and dangerous mixture."

Harry lowered his gaze, but forced it back to her. The girl saw she had been right. The movement of her wand in his hand also told her he was shaking a little bit.

"So I fear your power of decision right now would be tainted, and you might regret anything you do. If you feel safer by making me forget this conversation and what started it I'll authorize you –always hoping it goes better than your charms exercises."

He grasped her wand, but didn't move, and after a moment she assumed he wouldn't.

"Please remember the offer stands. I want you to remember also that I'm not an old man taking life-changing decisions for people one hundred years younger" she had gone half the speech before she recognized it as a reference to someone real, but she finished it anyway: "from a comfortable desk in a warm office in Hogwarts. I am a teen student without school, freezing in a seemingly pointless camping trip through hell, who is pursued and likely about to die in the most excruciating and degrading of ways. All I have is your friendship, and it's the only thing I couldn't lose, no matter what"

'Don't shit where you eat' Hermione reminded herself.

The enchantress had been approaching him, and now, as she watched his green orbs so closely, as her lips tasted the warmth of his breath, both parts of her mind momentarily collided.

"Anyway, and though I know it's the worst of ideas" she was shaking now, harder than he was, "if you offer this kind of… comfort… warmth… whatever… I won't have the sense to refuse it again"

As if to prove it, the girl kissed him lightly, butterflies erupting from every part of her. She knew this wasn't romantic love: this was anticipation and fear, and it made her feel alive, even though she knew she would step back in a moment and…

Harry wouldn't let her step back. Ever so lightly, his hands surrounded her –one in her waist, the other behind her neck. The butterflies became pixies and she wondered lightly what he was feeling. Hermione hoped he knew what he was doing because, for once, the brightest witch of her age had no clue.

Lips brushed against lips. Warmth and flavor, and everything else melting. Winter stopped being cold as the tip of her tongue pressed, urging his mouth to open, without conscious thought. He obliged, shakingly. Each second or so, the conscious part of her mind would awaken and yell at her, and she closed her eyes and dove in the warmth of his trembling arms. He still stank of Bathilda, but the smell had nearly vanished, exposed to the wind, outside; and under that, she thought she could perceive his own scent, of grass, of summer, along with the fresh aroma of spearmint toothpaste.

A loud noise made them turn, Hermione's wand raised in Harry's hand as her fingers traveled to her pocket to find it empty. The tent entrance was vacant, and there was no soul to be seen, no sound of steps. A broken cup spilled tea over the floor.

Still panting, the wizard reached for his companion. The witch never would know that, for just a moment, he had imagined Ron was back, and all he had felt, was fear. Her thoughts, if the girl had one, were on the risk they faced, momentarily focused on the fact that no one was on guard duty right then. Next thing she knew, Harry's front was on hers, and by the focus of his eyes, she knew he was thinking of kissing her again. Instead, his feverish lips found her front, and he embraced her tightly.

"Now, what?" he asked, his friend's head pressed against the vibrations of his chest as he spoke.

"Nothing" the girl answered. "Everything. Whatever you wish."

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Hermione looked up from the book she was reading and into Harry's eyes, and smiled at him. The witch had caught his gaze five times now, since she had come to bring him lunch and stayed to hold him company while he kept watch. Every time, there was this weird look in his eyes, puzzled, dark. She suspected he didn't know what to think about her, or more precisely about them. The girl herself was disturbed, but her emotion paled in comparison to his, and maybe precisely because of it. Weird as it was, he hadn't grown horns from the top of his head because of what had happened. His hair was a bit more untidy, but his scar, for once, didn't seem to disturb him. The only strange fact she could think of, was that the horcrux she had finally dared to wear, wasn't completely spoiling her mood.

"I thought you were like a sister to me"

She closed her book, slightly more serious. They hadn't spoken since this morning, except for when he had protested that she needed some sleep and Hermione had pointed out that she wouldn't be able to get any, a veiled reference to their kiss that he could easily mistake for worries about the night before. This morning's conversation had been, oddly enough, relaxed, but none of them could believe it still, and certainly none of them was eager to repeat it. Or hadn't been until now. There was something else they were longing to do, though; the witch could see Harry's hand twist and feel a phantom pressure behind her neck, where it had been earlier. However, none of them knew how to get there. Maybe this one was an attempt.

"Among the Egyptian royalty, siblings kissed all the time"

He just blinked, not understanding her brainy joke. That one had been, also, inaccurate, but the word "married" would have placed a giant elephant in the room with them. The girl sighed, recognizing defeat. She had never been the one to lighten the mood.

Hermione had no answer for him. Yet, difficult as his questions were, at least while being together they were too filled with memories of this morning to get paranoid about what awaited them if they survived to meet Ron again; not to say Voldemort, Dumbledore and all the snakes in the universe were far far away from any of their minds. Which was much welcome but dangerous nonetheless.

"I've been thinking about the locket" the girl changed the subject, as she touched the object through her sweater. "I rather suspect that we'll have to open it at some point, in order to destroy it".

"When we find the sword" he cut.

She stared at Harry. For the first time, he didn't seem eager to advance in their quest. He was looking away, yet he had moved just slightly closer to her, and now their arms brushed. Electricity ran from that point, radiating, till the tip of her toes.

"Yes, but a brain storm would save some time" she reasoned. "We have had the snitch ever since summer without finding out how to open it"

"I can't try to open the locket until having a way to break it" he pointed. "The answer would be the first to come to mind".

"Let's write them down" Hermione offered. "Later, we might go through the list, once we have the sword".

The girl caught his eyes, stubbornly fixed on the horizon. As if just to attract his attention, she grasped his hand, then slowly intertwined their fingers. That sure made him look at her. His expression was hostile.

"Just nightmares await there, Hermione" he whispered. "I'm so very tired of nightmares…"


	3. Diving in

The pull-over was drenched by the time the witch dropped it on the snow, her other hand already grabbing the first sweater to force Harry's head into it. They chocked and shivered and panted in a sort of chorus, but she was more worried about hypothermia. Hers, because her soaking clothes no longer protected her from cold. His, because he was male, and therefore less protected by body fat. All the breath she had left, she had used to warn him it was her, so he wouldn't use whatever remaining strength he had to fight. The first sign his consciousness was fully back, came when he watched sword and twitching locket side by side on the snow.

"I think it's the real one." Hermione's teeth chattered while she dyed his hair with a spell.

"How sure?" he managed to whisper, his voice weak.

"I'll check for unique marks once back in safety. How did you know it was here?"

"A patronus"

At once she grasped her wand and cast: "Homenum revelio" with unsteady bluish lips. Nothing happened.

"Shape?"

"Doe"

Her lips tightened forming a line. She couldn't recognize it.

"No way we'd open that locket without knowing for sure" she concluded, serious. "We might get stuck with an open horcrux and a useless sword. Much as Riddle's diary. It might even have been the point whoever left it here wanted to make."

She had helped him into his pants by then, no discomfort attached –she had, after all, worn his whole body at some point of the summer–, but when she started pulling off her drenched clothes he suddenly had nowhere safe to look. The thought that most of the vision fields around the forest didn't include his stripping friend never entered his mind. As she turned to take off her underwear, clothes already conjured from the tent and flying right to her hand, the echo of Ron's voice, resounding from fourth year, came to his ears: "You are a girl!" the boy had said, and Harry's awareness of it was growing by moments. Before checking out her bottom a conjured towel interposed between them, and he managed to look away somehow, but by then he was inconveniently aware of the female curves so often hid under layers of clothes and cloak. He suspected he would be able to see them now, no matter how many sweaters she wore. 

"Drink this" she recommended while thrusting a flask on his hand.

As she pulled another sweater and two pairs of socks, covering bluish toes, he obliged. Fire came down his throat, burning and making him choke again.

"What potion is it?" he managed to ask at last.

Hermione was still shaking, her arms around herself as she started to walk towards the tent, wand in her pocket and a hand loosely grasping sword and locket together. He approached her, seeking warmth. Until she answered:

"Vodka"

"What…?!"

He dropped the flask, but the girl caught it in her free hand and passed the content of the other to him. Then she sipped and coughed, as Harry had done. Well, at least she wasn't alcoholic.

"Drinks cause vasodilation" the bright witch explained "but I think it's safe now that we have dry clothes on. It'll also provide a comforting warmth. People use it for that purpose."

"For Merlin's sake, how many things did you pack in that bag?!"

Hermione smiled at him and sipped again, managing to cough less this time. Her ears were red. They reminded him of Ron's, but his memories of him weren't disturbing today.

"We have to leave" she said darkly. "Right now."

He was about to protest. He wouldn't lie on a bed and sleep but he still was too tired to pack. Not that he would be better in the morning. Anyway, it was clear that someone had left the sword there for them to find, which implied that someone knew they were there, and though no one had attacked them when they were at their weakest, and putting such a weapon in their hands wasn't attributable to death eaters, Harry wasn't betting their lives on the purity of soul of a stranger.

So they packed silently. Then, he got under the invisibility cloak and waited for the girl to come.

She barely hesitated before slipping between his arms, so he could close the cloak before them. Wand barely raised, Hermione started taking off the protective charms before disapparating. Musical sounding spells caressed his ears as her body brushed lightly against his. None of them had ever given a thought to the intimacy of the position, as two and often three friends slipped under the cloak, progressively closer as they grew up. Now both of them were painfully aware that his arms were firmly around her, and their almost adult bodies fit admirably. He recalled the child they had saved from the troll, the witch that had help them survive the Devil's Snare, the petrified body on the infirmary, the teen he had traveled with through time, the friend that had hugged him before the dragon defy… all the way to the brave woman that had chosen to remain with them, losing her parents in the process, only to help increase the fainting chances of winning this war. And as he did so, he wondered how he had managed to ignore it, while being there every step of the way.

The discomfort of disappearing took him by surprise.

When his stomach stopped twisting, she was still lingering there. A moment died, another. She had lowered the wand slightly, no longer having anything objective to do with it… or there… yet she remained almost still, feeling his breath in her hair, warm and soft. His arms stayed around her, though she knew if she stepped forth they wouldn't stop her, nor would he mention it, and maybe he wouldn't even think too much of it. Anyway, she was cold despite the vodka she had drank, the horcrux weighted on her, and he felt like… safety.

Harry's fevered breath hovered over her temple, a phantom kiss. His lips touched her there. She never dared to move, not even to close her eyes. When he inhaled near her neck, she shivered, no longer cold.

And suddenly, he wasn't there. A second passed. The girl dared to look around, slowly. She could almost hear him panting, yet she couldn't see him. However, Hermione was sure he would be around, she would be sure even if she wasn't the one with the wand. So controlling her voice she gestured around.

"Last time I went to the supermarket, I heard this place would be almost empty these holidays. I didn't know said holidays were this close until Christmas Eve, and I didn't make the connection until now, but I think any of this houses would be safe to spend the night."

The witch muttered a spell to identify living beings, and then walked nonchalantly to the house to their right; she marched around it, her wand spitting protective enchantments before easily deactivating all security devices inside as she entered.

"Wow" his voice sounded controlled beside her, "this kind of magic must be forbidden."

Hermione gazed at him briefly, finding nothing strange in his attitude, and finally breathed.

"This is inappropriate usage of magic, and being almost muggle I'm particularly against it, but we need a heater. We haven't gotten this far to die of pneumonia. Anyway, let's touch as little as we can."

They explored quietly, finding several rooms, a bed in each, and a well-supplied fridge with a post-it on the door asking someone called Alan to throw away most of the food. Evidently, a lot of things were on the brink of expiring, but they still had ingredients enough to prepare a warm and fulfilling meal.

"What's that?" Harry asked while frying the steak.

Brown eyes raised from the bowl, her wand still pointing to a knife over it.

"The salad."

"Salad?" he pleasanted. "Hermione, it seems like a tomato soup."

Her expression was priceless, but when the witch stared at the bowl, she had no choice but to agree. The pieces of tomato were irregular and the juice inside spilled everywhere. It even tainted her sweater, which he would never be able to explain, given that she was using magic.

"Watch the meat!" the girl suddenly cried.

He dropped the pan as the fire caught its content, while feeling his pocket, probably looking for his wand; but Hermione had things under control. The fire disappeared and the metal levitated centimeters off the floor, aside from the steaks and drops of oil; everything returned to its rightful place as if the image was rewinding.

Then, they watched each other, Harry snorted, and suddenly they were both laughing. It was the body-bending, ribs-aching, tears-dropping kind of laugh; they laughed, rolling on the floor, arms around their abdomens, until they were so breathless that Harry was actually blue.

"It wasn't even that funny" Hermione said. He chuckled, and they were lost again.

By the time they sat on the couch in front of the TV, they felt almost happy. Their hysterical laugh had healed some part of them. The muggle-born turned on the tube and quietly dropped her head on Harry's lap, who didn't even cringe but caressed her hair. The screen projected detectives swabbing a surface, and Hermione's frown was familiar to him, as well as the biting of her lips.

"There must be a potion to identify basilisk venom" the brainy one said quietly, concentrated. "I knew bringing books would be useful."

Harry simply stared at her. The idea of Snape with a swab in his hand made him smile. He was filled for the first time since the Burrow. It was her thing to consider school subjects in moments like this. He would never understand how the student managed to find the strength. But it was all right. They would be all dead were she different.

Her breathing changed, and he knew the girl was asleep. Awake, her face was full of character, but sleeping she was... gorgeous. There was no way to deny it. His head supported on the back of the sofa, he drifted to his own sleep, for once, dreamless.

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"We can't stay, Harry" she whispered. "If they follow us here, this family will be dead and it will be our fault. "

"Merely until we find out the data we need."

Several potion manuals lied on the table while Hermione browsed through "Hogwarts, A History" hoping to find information about Gryffindor's sword. The witch was growing worried she might not have the information on the small library she had brought, and anxious that even if she found the recipe for the potion she wouldn't have the time or the ingredients to prepare it.

"Besides, no one has tracked us until now, I don't think a day would make a difference" he plaid. "We are still chilling."

"You are rationalizing."

In truth, he would love to stay here for a week. He had forgotten how it felt to be warm and full. Though he understood her worries. Placing a hand over her shoulder, he insisted.

"Come on, I'm dying to try any of those beds upstairs."

Her hand stopped still for a moment, then resumed. She was sure he hadn't heard the double meaning, not to say purposely implying it. In fact, she shouldn't hear it either. Had Christmas being any different, the witch would have thought nothing of his words.

"Get to work, and you won't be thinking of that" she proposed, attempting to convince both of them.

Harry sat in front of her, messing up his hair as usual, a reluctant gaze directed to the potion manuals.

"I wish I had the half-blood prince's textbook…"

The girl barely raised her eyes, while he grabbed the first book on the pile without stopping his complains:

"Or my wand. Or both. Mainly my wand. I feel as if mutilated without it"

His will being focused on practical needs, she would have to go through the books after him to find data he would skip. But again, that was the reason they were a team: they completed each other.

The witch was more than surprised when he called.

"Hermione… Is this it?"

She left the book on the table, precariously balancing over the cross of the sword she was now comparing to some images, and walked behind him to read over his shoulder.

Her face lightened with each ingredient she read, and seen that, be started looking rather smug. At last the girl shrieked and kissed him on the mouth, briefly but passionately, and Harry was left as if he had once again fallen from his broom head first.

"It is" she smiled to his face. "And it's not even complicated! I have all the ingredients here!"

She hadn't hoped for it. It was simply too much luck, after too little.

Anyway, her emotion was brief.

"A week" she read aloud. "We'll have to stay in a place for too long, to prepare it".

"At least it's not a month" he said encouragingly, and a little breathlessly.

"I think it's the same sword, but it's the basilisk venom what makes it able to destroy horcruxes, so the potion will have the last word"

"Will we prepare it here?" he asked.

Hermione's gaze reprimanded him. Once again, the wizard was amazed at the similarities between the brunette, and McGonagall.

"We'll do so in camping. The question is: will we be back to the forest of Dean?"

"There we were located and identified" Harry reminded the witch, but he saw her point: whoever their secret friend was, he would want to find him. They were lacking friends. Anyway, with so much snow, clues would be lost by now.

Her lips formed a line while she frowned.

"I felt safe there, but I'm not real certain if it's…"

Her gaze darted to him, just for a moment. He was sure the girl was thinking of her parents: the memories of camping with them would favor that place, attracting her just as Godric's Hollow had attracted him. The disaster that travel had become, nearly made him decide against the forest, but he thought past it.

"We weren't there for even a day. If we were found by a friend, there is no risk. If there were enemies, I don't think they'll expect us to go back."

She sighed.

"Forest it is". Then Hermione looked at him, softly saying: "Thanks."

She had just decided that one more night here wouldn't hurt. Or she hoped so. This was about to become one of few muggle houses in Great Britain to stay under magical protection indefinitely. And now that the witch thought of it, she might place magical protection over all the houses in the neighborhood. Hopefully, less carnage for bored death eaters.

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"Sleeping arrangements?" Harry had asked awkwardly, hand on his hair once again.

Hermione had thought at this pace he'd have to use a charm to keep the hair on his head.

"We can't afford to get caught in different rooms" she had answered. "Any room with two beds?"

He had shaken his head.

That's why now they were both lying on the largest bed of the house, facing each other. Harry had closed his eyes, maybe having too much sleep to catch on, but the witch was awake. Without glasses, his face looked different, yet… not that much, once she looked at it for a while. Once she had gotten used to it. She was amused at how well this conveyed her current predicament. Passion wasn't a side of him his friend knew well, and she suspected he was himself discovering –always too occupied with life threats to concentrate on girls-, yet he was… passionate, yes… bold… and integrating it in the Harry she knew by heart, was taking time. Her temple still felt warm when she thought of being under the cloak with him. Along with the rest of her.

His frown and light movements made her wonder what he was dreaming about. Hermione hoped he would be able to rest. By dawn they planned to be gone, they had already arranged things the way they were when they arrived and packed the few things they had unpacked, and left some money where the proprietary would find it without alarming –or so they hoped-. The idea of going back to the chilled camping filled her with anticipated nostalgia of this place. The girl was quickly becoming attached to it. She knew the 30 hours or so they spent here would have to be enough to warm them for many days, weeks or months, giving them strength to go on, and that maybe they wouldn't be warm and filled again for as long as their lives lasted.

Hope, however, didn't seem to do the trick. He was now tossing and turning, and she could see him start to sweat as he moaned quietly. He must be having a nightmare. The idea of Voldemort entering his mind again made her shudder.

"Harry…" she started shaking him. "Harry… it's all right… wake up…"

Suddenly he opened his eyes and stared into hers. What she saw there made her shiver, but she didn't know exactly why. Retreating, she found her face trapped between his and the mattress. Then he pressed his forehead to hers, his lips a breath from hers. His scar was comparatively cold. He wasn't possessed, no, though his eyes were cloudy. She suddenly remembered there was more than one reason why a teen would moan in dreams.

"Harry…" she whispered quickly "I'm not Ginny…". Her breath was quickening with his nonetheless.

"Oh, I do know so, Hermione" he whispered back, his tone harsh, her name so full of meaning as if every letter accounted for one of the years they had spent together (and then some more). Then, he took her lips.

The girl's mind was suddenly spinning, his lips demanding as hers gave even more. She couldn't quite believe what he was doing. No way could she interpret what she felt, with her breath caught in her throat, and her chest so tight her brain must be in anoxia. Her hands brushed his shoulders as they moved to surround his neck, as his right hand traveled up and down her side, open-hand pressing harder on the up move. Chills traveled all the way to her toes, stopping in between. The witch wasn't wearing anything sensual –though she was, for once, taking advantage of the house's warmth to use a beige negligee instead of pajama pants- but she felt suddenly naked.

The alarm subsided as his kiss became languorous, taking all the time in the world. Books said they'd have to part for air. Books were wrong. Passion made breathing harder than actual kissing did. In fact, her breathing became harder when his lips traveled down her throat, stopping in her cleavage, panting. She couldn't for her life find her voice to give him permission, but her breasts were aching, as she fantasized about him warming, wetting, sucking her nipples through the silky fabric. Fear and curiosity fought long after he raised his gaze.

The mist surrounding them took long in subsiding. Finally, he opened his mouth, but didn't seem to find the words. The girl fought back the urge to take it in hers. 'It's Harry!' she scolded herself, yet there was an implicit question. This was not the Harry that was familiar to her. Though she felt him closer than she had before. And it wasn't merely a matter of flesh.

"I so loved that" Hermione whispered in a husky tone, reassuring him, just in case he was about to apologize.

He nodded and swallowed. Hard. He did not move. The way he had been moving his body… if it had actually rested on top of hers, her legs would have parted, if only for the friction, and the edge of her dress would have been raised to her hips. It scared her to think that she wasn't sure if she would have stopped him. Fear being as powerful as passion, her self-control was caught somewhere in between, and she would not find it. In truth, she didn't know if she would have wanted to.

'It's Harry', she reminded herself, and she stared into his dark green eyes, taking in the scar of his forehead, his now razed face that reminded her so much of the prepubescent boy she had first met. The witch knew it was Harry. The passion they shared was also full of the love they already felt for each other years before now; innocent love, the kind in which you risk everything to keep each other safe without interchanging as much as a chaste kiss.

And maybe because of that, when he disentangled her arms gently from his neck and let his sweating body fall to the bed, she wasn't disappointed; tenderness engulfed her, and somehow she knew this was a turning point in whatever they had now, though she suspected that it was selfishness what waited ahead.

"We should be getting some sleep" Hermione advised, still panting almost as much as he did.

They just stared at each other, though. The witch wondered fleetingly what he saw now. Her vision of him had changed, or rather, completed itself as a puzzle, though there were many empty places on it.

"May you hold me?" the enchantress whispered.

Harry hesitated, then raised his right arm, inviting, and the girl rolled until her back was to him. Being apart, she knew her thoughts would be too bothered by what had just happened; but together, they were in the eye of the storm. They both fell asleep immediately.


	4. Tergeo

"The blue one, Harry" she said, lips pressed on a line, cheeks flustered by the heat of the burning potion.

Harry passed it down and read the next line of the recipe while Hermione mixed the potion clock-wise for a last time.

"It says we must let it rest" he informed.

Drying her hands, she approached to look over his shoulder

"We'll have to set an alarm" she planned. "We can't spoil this"

Then the witch sighed, frustrated of not having anything productive to do in several long hours. She hadn't realized she had been breathing on his neck, and he was immobile. Suddenly, he stood and left the book on the table. To her puzzled gaze, he whispered something about a shower.

She grabbed the wand and walked out of the tent. It was twilight, and they must be keeping watch.

Two days and a night before, they had arrived back to the forest of Dean. As expected, it had taken time to find the frozen pool they had dived in two nights before that, which was even icier if possible, and there was no trace of whoever might have put the sword in place. They had focused on the venom-detecting potion. She had reluctantly and somewhat distractedly started to read Skeeter's book.

None of them had brought out the topic of their last night at the house.

The sky was tainted red, the flying birds were barely noticeable against the irregular streaks. The color no longer saddened her. Hermione had other things to think about. None of them included Voldemort, she hadn't even realized they hadn't spoken the name aloud in weeks.

Instead, she thought of Harry, the way she thought about him now.

Yes, she was very aware that nothing had happened in two days, which seemed to be a pattern with them: they weren't casual enough to peck on the other one's lips, maybe because they were staking so much, not only their relationship but also everything that relied on it. The complimenting each other was no more a habit than it had been before. They worked together, joked a bit, read to each other, spent hours just sitting side by side. But sometimes, she would find him staring at her. His eyes would still be green behind his glasses, but barely so, as she found his pupils enlarged. Those times, her breath got caught in her throat. Even while experiencing it all, she knew from her readings what it meant, and once again she found herself torn between knowing and feeling, because certainly, knowledge didn't ease away sensation. She couldn't speak of soul and body: that particular division didn't exist anymore. When he looked at her like that, all of what she was and all she would become, was suddenly awake and yearning.

His sudden presence beside her made her cringe.

"You should sleep first" Hermione commented.

"I'm not sleepy" he said as he sat beside the witch, an arm around a raised knee. That hand held the marauder's map. She looked at it briefly, and he noticed.

"I hadn't touched it since just before finding the sword."

It wasn't an explanation, not at all. Harry didn't need to provide one, and she certainly wouldn't demand one. She wondered if jealousy would be expected from her. She honestly experienced none. It was as if they had both widowed, or more accurately, as if they were deceased. Even marriage was till death, though she recalled some religions held marriage for seven reincarnations or so. No one expected a widow to forget about the deceased one.

"I was wondering what I would feel watching their comings and goings, not having seen them in so many months."

"Is he back in Hogwarts?" the witch asked, slightly alarmed.

"Not that I'm aware of, though I was thinking he might. But I guess they keep staying at the Burrow."

"And the rest of them?" she wondered. "Neville? Luna?"

"I have seen their names in the director's office" he smiled. "I guess they are giving Snape some trouble."

Hermione smiled back.

This was easy. This was them being friendly with each other. She remembered fourth year, being almost as alone as they were now, and a little further, third year, when they, together, had almost lost their souls to the dementors. Being together and alone betting their lives wasn't that rare to them.

Being cold, though, had its inconvenient.

When she shivered, Harry saw it, stood and entered the tent, and came out with a spare sheet he placed around him as he sit behind her back. He closed the sheet before her, and she didn't flinch. Witch's back to wizard's chest. The very best way of saving warmth.

"Thank you" she said.

"You're welcome" he whispered back. The vibrations of his chest amused her.

His hands were cold. The girl warmed them with her breath; first the left hand, which then she placed against her abdomen, under the sweater, enduring the remaining coldness of his skin; then, his right hand, which, having learned from experience, she placed near her chest, where it would be more or less equally warm without chilling her too much. Then, she lied back on his chest, sighing. 'I would die happy now' Hermione thought, and she meant it: warmth and a dear friend… there was no way her life could get better, under the present conditions; 'but I'd rather live'.

The movement of the forest around them –small animals waking up, breeze through the trees, the song of twilight- evidenced their own lack of movement. Looking to the sky as the sun dove under the horizon, they were content. Simply so. Darkness started surrounding them, and though not one of them liked not seeing a few steps forth, they were glad they were together.

Harry hugged her near, his hands moving inches. The witch wouldn't have noticed if it hadn't been for the tip of his fingers, purposely caressing. Softly. Endearingly. She was a bit ticklish but it didn't upset her this time. Smiling a little bit, she turned right, hesitated, then kissed him on the cheek. It was cold against her lips. Once she had retreated, he turned his head to her. Green eyes remained half amused half disturbed. Silence. Simultaneously they closed the space between them.

His mouth was dry, but quickly moistening. As his tongue probingly entered the enchantress' mouth, then she felt it. His right hand. Near her left nipple. Until then, she hadn't calculated their movements would naturally take his hand this close. Her breathing quickened and deepened, willing the remaining distance to disappear, and she could no longer calculate it.

It was rather silly that she would take this so seriously. She was sure other girls on her dorm wouldn't. But again, how not to mind it, when it was her, with him?

Hermione minded.

She would never know who closed whatever distance remained.

As Harry's short nails stumbled upon her nipple, she bit his lower lip, and stayed still. He moved them up and down, much as they had done before, just this time the apex of sensations was in the middle. She didn't know if he was purposely teasing her or if he was simply unsure of how to act. Surely in none of those cases this simple movement should unleash so many sensations in her. But it did. And when her wit returned and her tongue entered his mouth again, she couldn't hold back the heartfelt moan she had been retaining.

Hearing it and starting trembling was all the same for him. Had his mouth been demanding before? Now it was. The witch didn't wonder where his left hand had gone until she felt it.

Surely, there was no chance he was there, was it?

Yes, there it was.

His hand had fell between her thighs, and maintained nonchalantly his up and down caressing. It wasn't even that linear, but it followed her shaft well enough she felt another very erogenous zone waking up. Her left thigh wasn't sure if it should go up or down, and it stayed trembling in the middle, where it wasn't impeding his movement nor could it be comfortable for him either.

'What the hell are you doing?' Hermione reprimanded herself. 'It's… him'. She could no longer think of his name, though the person it was, that she knew by heart. Brown eyes did attempt to clear. Then the girl saw his clouded expression and it pushed her further into the mist. And she was no longer able to surface. Maybe she didn't want to, after all. Surfacing meant thinking. Her thinking tended to worry too much.

And she would imagine what she felt near her bottom was a particularly thick wand on his pocket, if the only wand they had wasn't shaking in her hand. If he hadn't tried to put distance between this new discovery and her back, consequently moving up his left hand, her currently very non-bright mind wouldn't have made the connection.

"Harry…" the witch managed to find his name and even utter it; she was now very pleased with herself. Hiding her face near his neck, lips barely brushing it, she completed in a very rough voice. "I am very aware you are male. Please don't try to hide it"

His body came back, softly thrusting, while he possessed her lips again, and as his hand moved down to its place, she draw back her belly, so he would naturally fell under the fabric of her panties.

Hermione could say when he noticed even before knowing what she herself had done. Not that she cared by now. All she cared was that his fingers were hesitating and his caress remained stubbornly superficial. To make it worst, his kiss was also hesitant. Was he thinking he was trespassing?

Impatient and bold, the girl's hand covered his, her middle finger pushing his deeper between her lower lips. He didn't resist. All the length of the finger moved over her button, and when she moaned again, he thrust more firmly.

A small part of her woke up, afraid that she was going too far, that she was the one trespassing. That part told her he was holding back, but she was rather sure it was out of respect, and her heart melted to the thought. It was the last conscious thought in her mind.

Lashes of fire licked her womb, radiating from her knob to the roots of her legs, traveling from the nipple he still caressed down through the center of her body. The witch was tense like a cord, and he was rather magisterial in playing. She wanted more. She wanted his mouth –the mouth that now sucked her neck- in her neglected right nipple. She wanted him… She wanted… In her inner eye, she saw him naked and near, she saw him aroused, and when her fantasized Harry slid into her, she lost it. Her body jerked and shivered and wave after wave of delight washed through her body.

His hand between Hermione's thighs kept moving, prolonging sensations until she put her hand over his.

"Stop… Harry, stop" she said through clenched her teeth. "I can't… stand it. I… just orgasmed. It's too sensit…"

The girl caught his eyes–through his barely bending glasses-, seeing confusion, realization, and then a smug smile twisted the corners of his mouth. His expression was the one he wore when he had just caught the slippery golden snitch –no second meaning intended-. Not that she cared about quidditch, but she loved that. Triumph. Her smile was shaking –for she was still panting-, but heartfelt: she felt light and humorous. She thought momentarily that, if his hair looked like that, she didn't want to see hers.

Then she shifted a little –for the first time noticing she was twisted- and his breath changed again.

It wasn't hard to imagine why. Not that he would say so, or even think of that –maybe within moments he would be thinking about dark wizards again… now that she thought about that, she didn't appreciate being forgotten because of them- but he must be utterly uncomfortable because of her. The lover of justice she had always been found it unfair. Hermione double checked what she had learned about her physiology, and found she had some choices. She was lightly aware that it was a life-changing decision when she whispered:

"Harry…"

The name hit her as she thought that it was the first time she had pronounced it afterwards; though she had also panted it a few times in the middle, and technically nothing had changed tonight –no injury, permanent or otherwise-. The proud scholar she was found it confusing. The perfectionist she was, found it incomplete. She wasn't sure of how his name must sound.

"Harry…" the witch savored it, nonetheless. "Are you saving yourself* for Ginny or something?"

It didn't occur to her that the name must be forbidden. Dark green eyes were unreadable as he directed them to her.

"I don't want to be an obstacle or anything… nor I like the role of Eve… but I'd really want to… to make… to make love to you… with you… now" she managed to say, and drew a ragged breath. "So I'll go now into the tent, and please think of it with the proper head because if you go inside within fifteen minutes I'll make my best to make you my lover. And you do know I'm determined."

Hermione must remember where the proper muscles were, to stand, and it took two attempts. She retired a lock of hair stitched to her forehead; cold as the winter was, she couldn't stop sweating. Dazed, she walked to the tent, feeling extremely inelegant and not suspecting he was at the time convinced that she was the most beautiful thing he had even seen.

The girl hesitated for a moment, then stripped and accioed the negligee she had being using some days ago. No underwear. The witch felt bold and she fueled it. If she stopped to think of it, she would back out. There were plenty of reasons to do so, but right now she would do it just for fear.

She was happy he was still outside. She would not forgive herself if he took such an important decision in the heat of the moment. She hadn't given him much time, but it quieted her consciousness.

She suspected Harry would come anyway.

He did.

When she turned, he was approaching her, gaze half bold and half uncertain; the distance he still kept, endearing. She stood in front of him and looked into his eyes, and took off his glasses, calmly closing them and placing them on the table, before slowly, quietly, reaching for his lips. The girl didn't hold his head. He didn't hold hers. They were both here freely, and for the moment they wanted that to be clear.

It didn't last, though. Slowly and steadily changing the angle she stood in, Hermione started to advance towards him until he stumbled with the edge of the bed and fell, and she pushed him to lie on the mattress, and she straddled him. Her nether lips opened around the very evident bulge in his pants. The enchantress moved, he moaned. Two layers of clothing remained between them, and she wasn't sure of how to get rid of them without awkwardness engulfed the moment; but she knew of a medical spell that made clothes intangible, and she whispered it while pointing at his pants, and suddenly there was nothing between them but the ghost of clothes, and she was moistening the silky iron of his manhood. He barely flinched with the spell, enraptured or trusting, she wouldn't know; his face darkened when he felt its very delightful effects. Slowly she moved back and forth, willing this to be perfect. For the time being, they fit like pieces of a puzzle. Again. The witch knew they would fit even better once she gathered her legendary Gryffindor courage. She knew he didn't mind waiting a little longer. He was having trouble to keep his eyes on her face, while her breasts teased him, dancing, nipples evident through the fragile silk. The girl was amazed at his untimely shyness. Exploring his glassless face, she whispered in her head: 'It's Harry'. This time she wanted to make sure she grasped it, the reality and surreality of it, its perfection.

Then, suddenly, he sat, his mouth aiming her breast, inadvertedly positioning himself in her entrance. When he took the nipple into his mouth and sucked, all Hermione had felt minutes ago came back to her. Taken by surprise, she moaned, but there was nothing accidental when she pushed herself down.

The pain was fierce and instantaneous. It had nothing to do with the tearing of flesh she had been expecting: it was a violent broadening of cavities, a protest of muscles, pain radiating to her entire abdomen and the root of her thighs. She had just discovered why they called virgins "tights". At first she wasn't even sure he was inside of her, or on the proper place, she just didn't feel him anywhere else. Then she moved, and he groaned and joined their mouths, his kiss as tender as passionate. She didn't even know it was possible to kiss like that. It gave her the courage to move again, a small up and down, bare millimeters. She saw his expression and thought he must be overreacting. But he wasn't. His face looked bare and feral and… angelic. She moved again, confused but delighted that she had this effect on him, even if temporally. Then the witch took off his sweaters and eased him on the bed. The enchantress wanted to try dancing. She suspected it would be unclenching her inner muscles, and though the pain wasn't unbearable, she wanted it to end. She owed it to herself and to him.

Dancing was indeed… different. Moving back and forth while having him inside had a different kind of charm. Harry touched something inside of her, in a very literal way. It tickled. She liked it. She widened her movement, their gazes stick to each other's, though his was cloudy. The sounds he made were her undoing: they made her feel tenderness and power, and she understood why it was called "lovemaking".

Hermione was understanding a lot of concepts today, for a bookworm.

His hands were grasping the girl's thighs under the negligee, moving slightly up, half unveiling her narrow waist. Green eyes devoured her between moans, and finally he managed to take her dress over her head with trembling hands. Her own fingers toyed with his bare chest; she could feel the contracted muscles and the heat and the sweating. She missed his warmth.

Even while she realized it, he was turning her around to lie on top of her. She obliged. She was amusing herself, but he needed a quicker pace. He had been waiting for too long. She understood. What she didn't anticipate, was the waves of pleasure she felt as the new position brought his pubic bone against her still sensitive clit. She raised her legs to his sides, knees almost to his shoulders, holding him to her. The witch's insides were a boiling potion with a significant amount of milk: it boiled up at an astounding pace, and though, surprised, she tried to avoid it, it spilled in no time. Her climaxing contractions brought him with her, and last thing she heard, was his suppressed cry, as part of him engorged rhythmically inside of her.

She held to him for dear life, as he did to her. He was panting near her ear, feverish breath barely moving her sweated hair. She could feel him still inside, but it no longer hurt, that part of him had been more substantial moments ago and she was less tight. The urge of telling him she loved him was overwhelming. She didn't do so, though. She suspected she wasn't thinking properly. However, when he tried to move, probably afraid he was too much of a weight, she held him tighter. The girl wanted him to stay, just for a moment longer. She let him kiss her shoulder and hover over her, though. His expression was naked. She did see the "I love you" he wasn't daring to pronounce, and kissed him, so he wouldn't. A kiss dark and wet and full… of what, Hermione didn't know. He made them both fall to their sides on the messed up sheets, pulling her with him. No strength left in any of them to move further, they were still united when they fell asleep.

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He woke up an hour later to find her slipping out of bed. She had put on the negligee and was humming a muggle song he had heard at some point this summer. It made him smile. And then, she stood.

"Hermione…"

The witch stared back to him, the corners of her mouth turned up, until she saw his expression. She followed his gaze to her negligee, then back to the bed. Realization hit her. Muttering something very nasty she reached for her wand and with a "Tergeo" for each, the blood vanished from both fabrics.

"I thought…" he muttered, messing up his hair again. "You were so fluent so… confident… I never thought… I thought you had been through… all of this… with Krum"

"Harry…" she called firmly, and waited until he raised his gaze to her. "I'm not sure of what you want to talk about, but if you need to, I'll be back in a minute, OK? Though we might need to go keep watch. We have been too careless already"

He looked at her for a moment still before nodding.

Ten minutes after that, they were quietly sitting outside. A musky smell stuck to her despite the quick shower she had taken, she might not have noticed had it not being so foreign to her. She was grateful he wasn't keeping his distances. It would have been most unsettling to her now. Hermione still felt a phantom of his presence inside, and it felt weird and wonderful. Being able to sit beside him, her head on his shoulder, she felt him around too. He was momentarily haven and heaven at the same time.

"I didn't think I'd be…" he fought with his words for a little while, until at last he choked with the right one "deflowering… my best friend. I know it's important. They say girls wait for someone they really love, for their soulmates…"

"Harry…" she called quietly.

She wasn't upset that he was setting her apart with other girls. She knew he was repeating what other boys in his dorms had whispered at night, and they meant well… mostly… Instead, she thought it was funny how he was more worried about her lost virginity than she herself was. Though she suspected, had someone else done this with her without a proper dating, he'd be hexing the poor boy to oblivion. Because he was her friend. Because he cared.

"Listen to yourself, Harry." The witch was amused. "You just said you thought I had been with Viktor…"

"Yes, but he was in sort of a love relationship with you" he explained. "And back then I didn't think about that" His voice was almost a whisper as he confessed. "It would have upset me. Greatly."

"Harry, you are 'someone I really love'. Sure you know it?"

He shifted so Hermione had to raise her head and look at him.

"We have been together for seven years now, which is most of our conscious lives, taking care of each other. If our relationship wasn't romantic… well, maybe it was… is… too big; the passion, too diluted. It's right, it let it… us… grow safely. But even being so, I have known for a while now that I'd step in front of the killing course if it were to touch you… you do know that, right? Not that it's so special, lots of wizards would do the same…"

His eyes were wet now, knowing it meant something different coming from this girl. His friend didn't care that his last name was Potter. This wasn't just about his pretended destiny.

"I'm afraid you'll regret tonight, once you meet the one."

"Harry… please remember I'm the wise one here" the witch joked, trying not to get upset that he was setting her up so easily. "I know I might have a whole life ahead… supposing that I survive the war… but I have read enough to know for a fact that a friendship like this… there won't be any other." Brown eyes prayed him to understand all she couldn't put in words. "There is no one else in the world I'd rather be with right now." She hadn't thought on these terms, but as she said it, she knew it to be true. "I'm glad I shared this with you."

He looked deep into Hermione's eyes, obviously wondering if he could kiss her now.

"I'm afraid I didn't know… or prepare… or had the experience to make it that good."

To that, she chuckled.

"Come on… Seriously? Harry, you took me to heaven twice tonight, and I didn't even know the way there!"

He didn't know if he should beam or blush, his expression was stuck somewhere in between, and looked adorable. He messed up his hair.

"You did most of the work, you know"

"That spot near the tent says I didn't"

Now he positively blushed.

"You are a natural, Harry. I don't need experience to know that; we girls have instinct."

"Well… It kind of felt like riding a broom for the first time… Not that I'm comparing you to it! It's just… like flying, you know…"

But she didn't seem to be listening, she was laughing too hard.

*My respects to everyone who is strong enough to reign over his/her hormones and the social pressures and save him/herself for someone special. It worked for me, it must work for you to.  
This Harry's case is not like ours mainly because if it were, we wouldn't have this story.


	5. Heartbeat

Harry's limp head fell once again from Hermione's frantic hands and in her lap. She looked for his pulse, again, and found it, again, but he wasn't waking up. She took off the horcrux that still hang from his neck. She couldn't cry, just couldn't. The witch accioed another revitalizing potion, poured it in his mouth and forced him to swallow. She refused to believe that there wasn't much more she could do. Incantations hadn't worked. Silent tears were trapped behind her eyes.

The girl wondered how this had gone so bad and so suddenly. Pieces of today glistened in her mind as she stared at him in shock.

"I seriously can't work like this"

Hermione was really trying to work on the boiling potion, distracted as she might be by the events Harry's presence evoked; but every time he moved, he did so a pinch closer than he had before Christmas. And each time her hand would hover over the cauldron, and her breath would be caught in her throat. It definitely turned the witch's attention from the potion. A month sooner she suspected she would have found it annoying. The girl now was trying hard not to giggle. It was a worrying thought.

"I wasn't doing anything" he said.

She looked into green eyes, eyebrows raised, and looked pointedly to the hand Harry had placed on her waist.

"I don't like that we have so much work to do" she scolded both of them. "But it must be done"

He tensed, the witch's veiled reference to the war shaking both of them.

"And we need some things from the market, so today is a busy day. Having a single wand, we have no choice but to go together"

Before placing her ear over Harry's heart, so she could follow his heartbeat without a stethoscope –his pulse too weak to serve anymore-, Hermione pulled the Invisibility Cloak from the place it still held: half over them, impeding her movements; and she couldn't but remember how had he held this same cloak in his hand even before she was ready to part, a beam on his mouth like she had rarely seen that year. As before, something warmed up inside the girl; a kind of tenderness. She recalled how she had nonsensically put on her best McGonagall mask, so he wouldn't notice how it made her feel that he couldn't wait to be this close to her. 'Stupid' she thought; but she didn't mutter it, afraid it would drown the fragile sound of his heart. 'Stupid!' she thought again, reminded of how much time it had taken them to discover the abnormal quietness of the market they had apparated in, the absence of the cashier. Time enough to joke silently about the new kinds of candies. Time enough for their whispers to be drawn by the cries.

The yell froze Hermione's smile as she turned under the cloak, a chocolate bar still on her hand. Harry was already heading towards the voice. The voices. Because there were also laughs, immature laughs that reminded her of Mayfoy's thirteen-years-old self, the one she had punched. Only, this time, that didn't sound like bullying. It sounded like killing. When the witch attempted to grab Harry's hand, he had already left the protection of the cloak… wandless, to make it worst… But running after him, Hermione had –barely- time enough to launch a disillusionment charm over him before they saw him; so they only saw her behind him. She doubted they had noticed Harry's feet still visible before the drops of the charm reached them. The cloak having fell to her own feet, it had no use but to impede her walking, thankfully her hands were free of it so by moving at the same time than the kids she could launch a 'Protego'. She couldn't see Harry, but knowing he was there she could almost perceive his silhouette where the light diverged, and after a moment she was sure the curse hadn't touched him: there was no sound of a body collapsing. She hoped she could earn some time. Looking into the kids' eyes, she asked:

"What are you doing?"

"Just having some fun with the muggle" a kid answered.

The young woman looked at him, saw his smug smile. The improvised masks on other attackers' faces – tiger's, spiderman's, clown's colorful faces; children masks, not death eaters'- chilled her to the core.

"You should be in school" she said in McGonagall's voice.

But she was scared. There were so many of them. None of them reached her age, she had no idea of how they mastered complex charms; but she could bet they had just being using the cruciatus curse. And they were just kids. Death eaters' children? She didn't know, there wasn't supposed to be so many purebloods of their age, was there? She would hesitate before hurting them.

She had missed his answer –something about proving themselves to the Lord?

"You are underage. I doubt he'll have a use for you."

"How would you know" other kid answered, despise evident on his tone; she could say she had hit a nerve. "I bet you are a mudblood"

And before she could act, wands were raised towards her, curses flied from seven points. Her shield charm stood six of them.

Harry stood the seventh.

The witch remembered fleetingly feeling his warmth to her side before the first curse. She had felt his hand over hers, trying to communicate his magic to the only wand they had, or maybe trying to help her stand the impact of the curses on the shield. Harry must have felt it break. Hermione sobbed quietly, eyes still dry, as she remembered his move –felt, more than seen- from side to front. And of course he had left the cloak to save the man, of course he would step in front of her. Gryffindor to the core. She couldn't decide if she was proud of him, disgusted or about to kiss him. Not that it mattered.

The brunette couldn't think properly. Her mind was torn between memories. Those she had, and those she hadn't. The girl held her temples, frantically trying to remember which curse had hit him, exactly. Had there been unforgivables? If there had been an Avada Kedavra, her shield wouldn't have blocked that, right? But her memory only held the sudden brouhaha and the havoc… A corner of her mind kept replaying a charms lesson from a long, long time ago: Ron, and his pathetic attempts to levitate that feather. Those were unexperienced kids, manipulating charms way over their age and wisdom. Were they enough potent to kill? Looking at Harry, so quiet, she needed think they weren't.

An entire quarter of the witch's mind caressed memories of last night. Not passion, no. Tenderness. Harry holding her, her head on his shoulder. Harry speaking to her quietly. Those images superposed to the one she had before her eyes, and she prayed Harry's life could be spared, even if at the cost of hers.

They were back on the tent, when he moaned. Her blood froze, she willed the sound to repeat. And it did. The witch's heart started beating again as she burst in activity: her hands checking his pulse again, reaching for the wand to enervate him, or simply twisting each other.

"Harry…" the girl managed to call, lips paler than his.

"'Mione" he answered at last, and hesitantly opened his eyes to the vanishing sunlight.

He found himself successively –and repeatedly- pinned to the bed, shaken by the shoulders and with a sudden weight on his chest.

"Hermione? What…?"

The wizard attempted to sit, but she didn't let him.

"Don't dare!" a shiver ran through his spine, the witch's tone reminding him of Molly's. "You don't get to die, Harry! You don't get to protect me! Do you hear me?! Don't dare do this to me again!"

"But, Hermione…"

"No!"

Her brown eyes suddenly had the light of fire. He lied open mouthed, unsure of what he must say, until he discovered she was crying. It was rather evident, big tears falling from her eyes and all of her body shaking with sobs; but she still wore a determined expression. Hesitantly, he tried to hug her, and she resisted.

"There I was yesterday, saying I'd die for you, and you go and stand in front of me! What if it had been a killing curse? What then, Harry? Tell me!"

He had no words. No words to tell her why he couldn't let her fall. No words to convey the intense protective instinct he experienced towards her –now more than ever.

So once again he tried to attract the girl's head to his chest, and she shook his arms from her, but then she obliged. He caressed her hair as she wetted his sweater.

"The muggle was dead" he whispered. "I went to check his pulse while you spoke to them. I… I couldn't let that happen to you."

"Yes, you could!" the witch burst from his arms. "And you must! You said you can't fight this war alone. Well, at least you have an opportunity of winning it. For me. For everyone else. You must not die. You are the priority."

He looked at her and smiled hesitantly, and she melted, but she fought back the smile.

"Well, actually I guess making a new potion is the priority" he mentioned, and just then she smelled the burning content of the cauldron.

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Harry thought she was sleeping. After apparating near the Severn River, they had spent the rest of the day gathering potion ingredients they had consumed on the previous attempt, harvesting them from the forest, and they had worked hard on the new potion, and then the brave witch had taken care of most part of the night watch and sent him to rest; the brunette had only gone into the tent after hours of him standing beside her despite her protests, and he was rather sure she had spent a good part of the night with the potion too. Anyway, when the wizard went into the tent, he stared at her laying form. He had more or less permission to contemplate her as a woman, didn't he? And he had discovered it to be a delightful hobby. She was turned away from him, so he couldn't see her face, but he contemplated her lovely curves, imagining more than actually seeing them as his eyes traveled through her body.

Had he not done so, he might have missed the sobs.

They were quiet, though her entire body was shaken violently. He neared her, not sure of what he was seeing, and then, uncertain as to what to do. She froze when she perceived his presence, and yet, the movement barely stopped for an extra second; and now he could hear her cry. Quietly he slid under the covers and held her to him. Her warmth, retained by the covers, relaxed him instantly as a hot bath.

The girl felt his arms encircling her, and nearly flinched. She couldn't stand this, couldn't stand the feeling of his warmth not knowing how much would it last, how much would her friend survive, and knowing, instead, that he would give away his life so easily. Hermione hugged herself, slightly parting from his body. Harry moved with her, hugging her closer. If he knew what she felt, or not, she couldn't say; not that the danger they were in was a novelty; she herself couldn't explain her sudden sensibility. Maybe two nights with almost no sleep had been too hard on her already overwrought body. All she knew was that if he kept hugging her like this she would crack. Hot tears were already pouring on the already drenched pillow.

For a long time he held her quietly, all the time fighting the artificial distance the witch had put between their souls. He wasn't sure of what happened in her, but he might already know, since he, too, needed her close; he, too, had almost lost his friend… his lover.

Hoping not to shock her, Harry used the spell she had used the previous night, to remove the physical barriers between their bodies, and then, slowly, he slid inside of the brunette. She didn't stop him, and if she responded it was just to change –oh so lightly- her position so he would rest deeper inside of her. Hermione's inner muscles pressed him tight, another kind of embrace; even if she hadn't even looked into his eyes. He just stayed there, home, barely moving, while the loving diverted their attention from the terror they felt of being taken apart.

After a while, he seemed to remember the foreplay of the night before, and his hands caressed her all the way to her clit. Brown eyes opened, anticipating what was to happen. And of course, as Harry caressed her as she had taught him the previous night, the girl forgot the pain and the sorrow, the anticipated grief of losing everything that was left for her in life. His hand awakened sensations his presence inside guided and focused. It wasn't long until she grasped his hips, willing him to move oh so slowly, so interruptedly, exactly the way she needed him. He didn't need much more. He moaned in her hair as her climax made him shiver and collapse himself.

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Harry lied still, his muscles aching, feeling nothing but pain and wonder, an almost-smile on his mouth, as he saw the brunette sit on the edge of the bed. Hermione had followed him to the shower, and they had made love there, water falling over them, making them close their eyes, taste it on their mouths; they had kissed… everywhere…

Electricity seemed to jump between their bodies as Hermione sat, her back against his abdomen, for a moment engulfed by the memory of his body against her back as he took her from behind, her nipples caressed by the cold magically-strengthened walls of the tent. She closed her eyes and breathed, almost aroused again.

Yes, they had spent all morning making love nearly everywhere, blindly and shamelessly, with very small periods in between; being close to death had made them aware that they were still alive and together, willing to celebrate it.

And his smile only got wider when the witch accioed a book. Merlin, she loved that girl. He played with her hair while she read quietly, her face relaxed as he had rarely seen it this year, and yet, bearing that smart yet content expression she always wore in front of a book.

"What are your reading?" he asked, amused.

"The song of Solomon"

"Poetry?"

"Yes"

"It's a big book of poetry"

"It's the Bible"

He half sat behind her, startled.

The witch smiled to him, half-calming him at once.

"I thought it forbid..." he gestured around, pointing the girl's wand and her naked body, wordlessly.

"'Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth'" she started reading, "'for thy love is better than wine' (…) 'My well beloved is as a bundle of myrrh unto me: he shall lie between my breasts' (…) 'My well beloved, behold, thou art fair and pleasant: also our bed is green' (…) 'Like the apple tree among the trees of the forest, so is my well beloved among the sons of men: under his shadow had I delight, and sat down: and his fruit was sweet unto my mouth'.

By then, he was already checking the cover of the book, and if there was another book slid between pages, the way Dudley often slid comics into textbooks so his parents would think he was studying. But the last quote simply made him protest:

"That can't mean what I think it does"

The brainy girl positively grinned this time. Still tasting his seed on her mouth, the witch was prompt to give the text the most literal of analyses. Anyway, only for the sake of knowledge, she admitted:

"There are around four possible interpretations given to the entire song. And no, I'm not sure they did these things back on those days, or that they were so easygoing about it, or that it meant in that precise culture what it means to us. Besides, most religions give it an allegoric value. It's intensely erotic anyway. No way of denying it."

'Which doesn't mean it approves of us' she thought, but didn't say so. She knew it was the lack of commitment what the book truly reprimanded, and that rules were made for protection; but they both knew that they were, once again, breaking rules, and that this time they would got beyond heartbroken. She wasn't about to bring it out.

"And concerning magic: though a superficial reading would make you believe that the Bible rejects the Wizarding world altogether, what it truly reproves is the self-sufficient attitude. Richness. Big armies. Technology. Anything that makes you believe that God isn't necessary". She sighed and completed: "Well, He never hid He is jealous."

Torn between discomfort and fascination, he said:

"You sound like a believer..."

With a deep sigh, she regretted:

"I wish I was."

The boy hesitated before gently taking the book from the witch's hands; he closed it and laid it on the bed beside them. Then he took her in his arms. Hermione didn't cry often, surely not in critical moments, she was too practical for that; but at some point she needed to empty her heart, and at that time, she needed to do so completely. By the sound of her voice, he knew this was one of those moments.

"I was so scared, Harry" the girl whispered against his shoulder. "So scared I would lose you. You have no idea of how… how fervently… I prayed for you to live. That's not why you woke up, I mean, I know people die all the time despite the faith of their loved ones. Probably whatever spell reached you, was too weak. But at the time, that's all I could do…"

He simply held his friend, coldness dripping from his heart. He knew he was loved, but it was good to be reassured; to know that even if the war took his life, memories would keep him alive not only in the brain but in the heart of hearts of someone, not only because of his name but because of who he really was. And he felt bad that it felt so good to know that someone loved him to this point, till being torn to pieces just by thinking of losing him. That this someone was between his arms now, alive and warm, was beyond description.


	6. Death of the year

"No way, Harry" the witch said, hands on her hips, while seeing him balance a dead bird in one hand. "I don't know how to cook those things"

It was hard to follow the calendar, but they were rather sure it was December 31th, and he had thought they deserved to celebrate. It had certainly been a hell of a year… not to speak about the last week, with all those experiences none of them had anticipated and still made both of their heads turn. How had he managed to find, not to say hunt the animal in winter, she wouldn't know.

"And we don't have spices!"

"Hermione, come on, would you tell me your library includes the recipe of a potion to detect basilisk venom, but you don't have a simple cookbook?!"

The girl's expression answered for her.

"Can't we summon one?"

"That's stealing, Harry!"

"Merely borrowing" he defended. "I'm sure Molly wouldn't mind…"

"We didn't take stuff from her when things got real rough, and Ron was with us; we won't start now"

"Then, let's go to a restaurant…"

She got suddenly ashen, a tic on her left eye, and he lowered the bird.

"Hermione…" he whispered, but found nothing else to say; instead, he walked towards her, uncertain.

The witch had hidden her face under her hands, trying to regain her wit.

"Harry…" she said at last, "last time we left, we almost died, and we had simply gone to the market; and not a week before that, we barely escaped from You-Know-Who…"

She had sit on the snow, and he joined, looking to the river, where the sunlight rippled happily. It reminded him of Hogwarts' lake. He would speak to the girl about all the risks they had faced successfully, but she already knew of those. The ones she feared were those yet to come.

"I'm sorry about the bird" she said. "Let's try to cook it with what we have"

It didn't taste that bad.

They even had the nerve to improvise some decorations for the tent.

Yet, by twilight, her mood hadn't improved. Harry sat in his chair, watching her, worrying about her. He knew she must be thinking of all she had lost this year –mainly her parents, with whom she had camped in this same forest–, and of how little she had now, and of how easily she could lose it too.

He stood, offered her his hand to make her stand, gently took the horcrux out of her neck –throwing it aside- and made her dance. It wasn't something fancy, he had long ago forgotten fourth year Yule Ball and she wasn't wearing a dress; but it was funny, and her face, terribly worn up at first, enlightened with a smile. It made her, if not forget, at least, put at rest her worries a little bit. Harry thought he loved that smile. He thought, if he forgot all of the rest, he would never, ever, forget this moment. And though they ended up dancing in each other's arms, he didn't dare kiss her. The witch was, in her own way, untouchable.

Hermione didn't dare kiss him. Maybe the girl knew what was to come.

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"Hermione, dear" he joked. "Haven't you by chance packed a bottle of wine in that wonderful bag of yours?"

And that's how they sat under the twinkling stars, plastic glasses holding small amounts of vodka, pretending they were wine cups. Harry held Hermione's waist, caressing it nonchalantly.

In fact, she was rather ticklish tonight, and the vodka she had already swallowed made it hard to mask it. She gave him a chuckle once in a while, and each time, he would look at her, amused. Until his own vodka kicked in. Then, he approached her casually, and all of a sudden they were rolling over the snow under the silvery light of the moon, as he tickled her and she tried to defend herself and laughed, her wand forgotten on the tent entrance. She was so lovely and free, that he was tempted to stop breathing, and just stare at her. Or was it the vodka?

Things got a little more serious when he tried tickling her bare abdomen with his lips, successfully leaving her breathless, though he had to grasp her hands so she wouldn't hurt him by defending herself. She was a fighter, he must agree with the Hat. Her legs kicked constantly and powerfully, as he tried caressing her side with his tongue –not thinking that she might get cold, for it was a comparatively warm night and her cheeks were intensely red-. Her cries were shushed by her laughs.

Hermione only got a little less humored when his mouth went a little more to the south.

"Harry…" the witch called him, and giggled once more, but managed to call again: "Harry… There is something I must tell you…"

Harry let himself fall beside her. The boy was humored and aroused, but most of all, happy as she had rarely been.

"The thing is…" the girl said, a little redder than she had been a moment before. "I don't know how to put it… This is… a risky time for… you know… making love and all."

He frowned a little bit, but it didn't occur to him to feel hurt or rejected, not today anyway.

"Time?"

"Of the month, I mean…" She was a little breathless when she clarified: "I'm getting into the fertile part of my cycle."

He stared at her, clueless.

"I mean I could get pregnant"

He didn't understand at the beginning, but the word resounded weirdly in the night and made him blush. Why, he couldn't know; it was as if she had suddenly introduced him to something forcefully feminine. But he caught himself. He had surely never had that kind of worries, but nor had the witch, for that matter. And babies were made in couple.

"Oh"

"I knew we were … you know… safe because I follow my cycles. There was a doctor called Billings who studied the physical signs of fertility… I've been amusing myself for a while by learning to recognize them on myself… But when fertile days come his method recommends abstinence" the girl was now redder than the Weasleys' hair. "Unless you know any contraceptive spells?"

He blinked, still taken aback. Hermione kept staring at him, and he thought she was lovely, cut against the bright white snow. He forced himself to remember what she had asked. Spells. Spells she didn't herself know. That was a first.

Hermione was real upset with herself for not having prepared for this. Any time she had thought about the subject, she had seen it so far away in the future... and thought she would be, by then, ready to receive any baby with love. That even if it wasn't the case, she could still stick to muggle methods to postergate becoming a mom. What to do now. She wondered fleetingly if she should have looked in the library. She would have checked for the best method, one that wouldn't play havoc with her organism or harm any accidentally conceived embryo, as she had heard muggle pills and intrauterus devices did. Ethical subjects that most magical healers (and muggle doctors, for that matter) wouldn't care much about.

Discipline remained. The safest of methods, though it wasn't as if she liked the perspective, specially if pondering his feelings...

His hand distracted her as he took hers and placed it between his and her belly, in a gesture so naturally sweet that it made Hermione think of marriages and families and babies in a whole new way. Harry was frowning slightly. She could imagine he was trying to remember the things other boys had discussed in their dorms at some point. The efficacy of those spells would be beyond questionable, but at the moment the witch didn't care, not when her gaze caressed his face, glasses reflecting the light in the silliest and yet more endearing of ways. And at the end it didn't matter, because he shook his head and blushed a little bit more when saying:

"Can't remember"

The girl hesitated, then slid between his arms, and he hugged her. The snow was cold and made her shiver, so he rolled to make her rest over his torso. He smelled of grass and sweat in a pleasant, familiar way. She could touch the locked on his chest, and she ephemerally wondered why none of them were in an emotional havoc by now.

"We'll just have to wait… How much time?" he asked, turning to her.

She turned red again.

"I'm not sure… Around eight days…?"

He seemed a little upset, but he hugged her more tightly and half joked:

"Well, I'll certainly miss it"

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By dawn, they both just sat, front to front, backs against trees; Hermione, with a mattress over her legs and a book, as usual. The snow around them was magical, it made everything seem ancient yet fresh.

"Maybe we should just stay here, Harry. Grow old"

Harry remembered Mad-Eye, Dumbledore, even Cedric; all those who had, knowingly or not, died for him; because he was the one to stop Voldemort, because he was the key.

He didn't answer.


	7. *Weight of secret memories*

(Read HP7, chapter 19, p200, where Harry takes Ron to the camping site; editions needed are minor enough that they aren't worth reproducing the entire conversation here, you can do them yourselves. They haven't destroyed the horcrux, once the potion's ready I'll say so)

Once Ron's snores informed her that he was asleep, Hermione slid out of the bed and left the tent quietly. Harry was there, equally quiet, gaze lost to the horizon. She sat beside him, not touching.

Until then, they hadn't spoken, hadn't even thought of what Ron's return meant to the new and fragile relationship they had. Hermione was angry enough to the red-headed boy for having left; in her entire tantrum, not a single time had the witch thought of the previous week. Harry seemed to be happy of having his best male friend back. They had fell naturally to the roles they had played for years in the trio.

And now, what?

"He knows nothing" Harry informed the girl. "While we walked back, the subject didn't come to my mind"

It was an offering. A gift she maybe didn't want. She didn't answer.

He looked down and grasped a handful of snow, just to lift it and let it fall, and repeated. He was disturbed, despite his face being shadowed she could say so, simply by his shaking moves. They remained silent for a long time. So long, that she knew he wouldn't say another word.

And it was OK. Better than OK, actually. If he tried to apologize, or to give her a speech about putting a target on her, she would lose her temper. As if she could be in greater danger. As if it was possible to die twice. She had made her choices, willingly, and surprising as it was, she regretted none of them; her memories were precious to her. Regarding Ron… well, at some point he would notice something had changed –not that she could see him the same way-, but it was none of his business.

She opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again.

"I'll never stop being your friend, Harry" the girl whispered. "Above all, that's what you are to me."

He nodded once, swallowed, and that was it.

His friend didn't leave until dawn.

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Harry sensed it more than heard it, and when he came into the tent, sure enough, Hermione was pale and shaking violently, visibly scared to death and… in Ron's arms. It took all of his self-control not to push him, growl to him or something. And still, walk to them, instead of leaving. He needed to be here. She needed him. Didn't she? But to see her receiving someone else's comfort was physically painful.

"What happened?!" he asked through clenched teeth.

"A nightmare" she said. "It's… nothing. It was only a nightmare."

She pushed herself straight and out of Ron's arms. She breathed.

"It was… about… Him…"

No way of mistaking the He. Her terrified expression said the name her lips couldn't pronounce, especially now.

"I don't remember much. Just… that I opened my mouth and I was speaking with His voice."

"Why? How? Like Harry? Is she possessed? Are you possessed?" Ron shot, her gaze shooting from one to the other.

Harry checked the locket, safely on his chest. No, she wasn't wearing it.

"I don't think so, Ron. It was… just a dream… a bad, bad dream."

"I think I have some chocolate somewhere" Ron offered.

They heard him search through his bag, empty it, muttering and complaining about not finding it as he moved away, probably expecting to do so somewhere else.

Losing no time, Harry asked.

"Was it all? Is there something else? What do you think it meant?"

Hermione, still pale and shaken, looked into the sorcerer's eyes.

"You really want to know?"

He nodded.

"You need to cool down, Harry…"

"What do you mean?" he replied, defensive.

"He isn't only a person to me… it's the very personification of evil… So I think that when I spoke with His voice, what it meant was a very strong sense of guilt… And it's not mine."

She looked adamant. Yet, and trusting her as he did, he was sceptic. How could she experience no guilt?

"Harry… We didn't betray him… There were no promises between Ron and me, not a single kiss, and then he choose to leave…"

"And why do you think it's me who feels guilty?" he replied, self-justifying.

"Because in my dream, I had your eyes."

Ron arrived then, handling her a piece of the sweet dark medicine that she split with both of them. They all needed that.

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'Life is awkward' Hermione thought with a sigh, as she struggled to keep her eyes on the book she was pretending to read, while Ron kept throwing anxious gazes at her, and Harry… well, Harry escaped definition. Maybe her own behavior was equally weird, the brunette didn't know. The boys were sitting on the bed, talking… or at least, Ron was, because with Harry, it was being like pulling teeth.

"So… A frozen pool?" Ron asked. "That must have been excruciating"

"Agonic" Harry answered simply.

"You should have taken the thing off before"

"I was the one drowning"

"Yeah, I guess you have already thought about it a million times"

Harry's dark gaze fled towards Hermione, just for half a second; the witch didn't look at him. Yes, he had thought about it. Not that he had loved freezing and drowning, but it had seriously speeded up their…

How to call it? He cringed at the term 'sexfriendship', he couldn't deny it essentially fit and that hurt him even more; because it didn't convey at all the meaning it had had to him, and because it seemed disrespectful to Hermione. And that, he couldn't be.

Anyway, had it not been for the frozen pool, he wouldn't have dreamed of kissing her neck this week; and seeing how Ron had returned –'so quickly', Harry thought, and then he realized the red-headed wizard had been gone for two months-, the scarred boy probably wouldn't have dared do it at all.

The girl would have been all Ron's.

The new wand in Harry's hand let go some strange sparks and Ron carefully stood and moved away. Good of him. Murderous thoughts had flashed in Harry's mind, though he had suppressed them quickly, as ashamed as shocked by their fierceness –so different from what he had experienced towards Dean Thomas, as his own… thing… with Hermione was from the rather innocent dating he had shared with Ginny. Now that he thought of it, Ron was also to blame there.

Dark green eyes followed Ron's walk, narrowing when he passed a meter away of Hermione.

"That wand might actually be dangerous" Ron commented, his eyes never leaving it. The wand was letting them know again of their incendiary urges.

Hermione's gaze lift over the book and she met his dark eyes, reprimanding him. Thank Merlin for Ron's thickness.

"Yeah, I guess I should go keep watch" Ron added before going out.

Harry seriously tried to give him something friendly, a smile or something, but he couldn't find one for his life. He felt a little dizzy.

And why was he letting her go, again? The black haired wizard breathed in, out. Reality came back to him like a tsunami. Dark Lord. War. Dead people. A poster of himself with the words "Undesirable Number One" across his chest. His own probable death. He pictured the witch, somehow in a sort of post-war world that wasn't dark as hell, smiling among her beloved books, undisturbed. He carefully avoided picturing her with a family of red-headed boys and girls; too close to the subject of their probable dad. He refused picturing her with a green-eyed girl on her arms. Family didn't fit her that well, anyway.

And then he gazed the girl as she stood from her armchair, not looking at him at all.

Hermione's only warning was a whispered spell behind her: "Duro". She turned to find herself pinned between Harry and the tent wall, and her legs were entwined around his waist even before her whirling mind grasped that the spell had been directed to the fabric. Harry's mouth sucking her neck, the witch found extremely difficult to concentrate. The nonchalant humming outside kept pulling her from the mist of passion that had engulfed her so suddenly, but it wasn't enough.

He thrust violently, sex against sex, through the clothes he hadn't vanished. It didn't matter. She felt him anyway, real and reaching for her, and her breath quickened further. Frantic hands had slid under her sweaters, pressed against her skin as if he wanted to dig through it. She bit her lower lip to keep from moaning. She was dying to cast a muffliato, but her wand had fallen and she was so not breaking the mood. When his hand reached her breast, she did whimper softly until his mouth devoured the sound, green eyes quietly warning through the fog.

Magic forgotten, how the girl managed to untie his pants, she wouldn't know. The metallic sound of the opening belt echoed softly, fueling their mood, as he struggled with her own clothes. Then, they were joined. And again. Violently. Fiercely. His shaking forearms forcefully slid under her legs, to hold her knees over his elbows; uncomfortable as it might be, the position took the remaining clothes further out of the way, and the angle touched a very sensitive point near her entrance. She hid her face in his shoulders and bit deep, tears burning her eyes. Despair made this moment more precious than any of the others. They kissed with all the pain and the fury they had in them. They loved with all the passion they wouldn't give each other in a lifetime. When climax came, his hand drowned her scream before he allowed himself to follow, his own cries masked against her neck. Green eyes met brown ones, front against front, as they panted, knowing that they breathed in the essence of them, united, probably for the very last time.

"Don't you dare, Harry" she whispered as their wit returned to them and his gaze turned shameful and shocked. "Don't you dare leave without saying …"

"I love you" he cut her speech, words too worn out to convey all the multi-layer feelings he had for her. "And I want you so much…"

The humming stopped, disconcerting them just for a moment until footsteps were heard. Harry burst into action, carrying her to her bed before climbing into his, disheveled clothes hid under the covers. Both panted quietly, eyes wide open and looking away from Ron as he came into the tent gently, looking around before going past them, to the bathroom. Hermione couldn't believe the red-headed boy couldn't literally smell what had happened, but thank Merlin for that. The girl's hand grasped the surprisingly quiet locket, its coldness shocking over her sweating hot skin.

None of them fell asleep that night, neither.

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"The potion is ready", the witch announced, eyes on the vial she was filling.

Harry and Ron both looked over her shoulder; Ron gazed the boiling liquid as if he had no clue of what it was. Hermione knew that, if boys had been in charge, they would just have given the sword a try, and face the consequences. Thoughtless as boys were, as she used a makeshift swab impregnated with this potion, on the sword, she knew that would have also worked.

"It's the one" the brainy one declared.

Ron's smile was priceless. Harry answered with one of his own, though she could say it was somewhat worn-off. Hermione didn't stop frowning.

"I want this thing" she said, taking out the horcrux she had worn for a while and handling it to Harry "out of my camp. Don't break it here"

"So… that's it?" Harry asked.

The witch nodded.

"And wherever you are going to kill this thing, put on some protective enchantments."

"Hermione, you got the sword out of the pool. I think you must be the one handling it."

"The sword will remain, it's the locket what is going to be destroyed. There will be plenty of horcruxes on which we can use the sword." she gave the red-headed boy a professional look. "Ron, it affected you more than us. You must be the one."

Ron turned green, which did not match his hair, but didn't respond. Not in front of the girl, anyway.

"You could go with him" Harry offered.

Had she heard a second meaning? She stared at his green eyes, and saw none.

"I don't use Parseltongue" she replied. "It's one of our best bets, being Slytherin involved"

"So you will stay behind and watch the tent" Ron said.

Maybe he didn't mean it, but she heard sexism there. If gazes could kill, they would have a red-headed corpse near the tent by now.

"Just go"

The girl sat by the tent entrance and ignored them as they left, anxious to get the physical part of the job done. The witch heard their friendly jokes for a long time, as Harry tried to lift Ron's spirit. At last, she raised a hand and wiped a single tear that had escaped her eye.

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Harry was ashen when he returned. He walked into the tent and sat. Hermione's worried gaze followed him while Ron walked beside him, looking rather smug that he had defeated the horcrux; though he must also be shaken if he wasn't bragging about it as he had the previous year about that quidditch thing. The bright witch asked about their mission, most of the time looking at Harry as Ron explained what had happened until the opening of the locket; Harry's interruption only served for the girl to know something had gone very wrong.

She wasn't surprised when he grasped her hand while Ron left for the first watch.

Her arms ached to hold him, but she simply stood before him, the wizard's hand grabbing hers, brown eyes trying to meet green disturbed ones. He didn't seem to find words for so long, that she had to break the silence.

"What did you see, Harry…?"

"Us" he cut in. "The damn thing showed him about us."

Letting the witch's hand fall from his, he sat on the bed, head between his hands. After a moment, she followed him. Not that it had surprised her that much. The locket had used its knowledge about Ron, to fight him. That they had given it some material to work on, had maybe been a plus, but it would have done so anyway. And Ron evidently hadn't believed it at last; he was, if something, more confident.

"Harry…" she hesitated. "What…?"

"… did I tell him?" the wizard completed, green tired eyes finding hers. "I told him about the first weeks without him, when you cried yourself to sleep. I told him that I loved you like a sister. Which is true, but again… it doesn't mean what I used it for. Ever since he came back, I have compartmented last week in another place of my mind, and it's not difficult because it's so surreal, but there are moments when it cuts loose and…" a ragged breath interrupted him, his expression full of despair.

The girl hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder, and closed her eyes when memories of the previous time attempted to drown her, but she rid the wave:

"You weren't there, Hermione. You didn't see how that… serpent… perverted… everything… It spoke through your image to compare him with me –you know how unchosen Ron feels at all times- and if you had seen his eyes… For a second I thought he was turning around and killing me instead… and I did… I do… believe that I deserved it."

She swallowed. Yes, she could picture that.

"I thought I only had to be Gryffindor brave, but that I may cause that kind of pain to him… to him, Hermione… the one who stood beside me against the rest of Hogwarts when no one believed me... I… I knew you had something going on" the girl tried to protest, but he shushed her with a gesture "but it was so abstract in my mind –your hand hanging over his in Grimmauld Place- and now… I told you what it showed to him, but for an instant towards the end, I didn't see us, I… I saw you both… together… And…" he seemed to drown for a moment. "I just… I can't keep doing this. Just by staying here with you, and not touching you, I…" He showed her his trembling hands, and she knew they were aching to hold her. "And at the same time I want to be here for you… as your friend… because there is no way you can stand this alone, nor should you, and my share of this secret should make it easier for you… but I genuinely don't know if it's making it worst for both of us…"

She simply stared at him, while his eyes were in his hands. She hadn't even listened to the ending of his speech, she had already understood. 'No' the witch wanted to say to him, but couldn't. The battle inside of her soul had never been fiercer; because she knew what she had to do, but all of her rebelled against it. Not that she experienced it for the first time this year. Just… this time, the decision was to be taken now, or not at all. No point in doing this after Ron got suspicious or… worst… 'No'. Harry wouldn't ask her for it, he knew what memories meant to her, even more now, after her parents… And precisely here, in the forest where she had gone camping with them. 'No'

The girl kneeled before him, between his thighs, and his hands grasped his own knees. She made them lift, knowing they would, as they did, go to her shoulders, to her face, holding it as a goblet. Very gently she leaned forth and kissed him. It was not passionate, nor chaste: it was an "I love you", an 'I miss you' and a cry of pain. And when they parted, she very slowly raised her wand to his front, wanting him to confirm that she had understood… or rather, wanting him to stop her… but, even while mourning in advance their memories, the wizard only whispered:

"I want to be the one… to obliviate you… I wish we could do it together…"

Picturing them pointing their wands at each other, she whispered "Obliviate", and saw 'together' vanish from her friend's eyes.

Some things she had no courage to erase: their dancing, New Year's dawn; they weren't explicit, and she rationalized that he might gather strength from knowing that not all year had been a nightmare.

Before the green eyes focused again, the witch was locked in the bathroom, crying as she produced a flask and started pulling her memories –the scenes she could no longer stand- from her brain. She took out that of their first kiss, and the following conversation; the entire recollections of the house they had stayed in, followed. She panted while pulling out the memories of their loving times together; when she let go of their afterwards chats, cries became fading sobs, and she was much more focused. Enough to analyze the detailed memories of their visit to the market; she wondered fleetingly if she had been discovered –the evil teens weren't much younger than she was, they had a brain, and protecting muggles was Potter's team's thing-, but decided it to be rather unimportant, and then he poured those memories in the flask too, just in case they awoke other emotionally charged threads of thought. She carefully edited her memories of the previous days; Ron would notice if she forgot something big enough, though she doubted he would suspect what had happened –it was hard enough for her to believe, now-. Then she simply panted, kneeling on the floor, flask in hand. She wondered what to inscribe on the container.


	8. In times of war

Hermione bled nine days after that, so she figured out that it all was truly over. Pale and in pain, she sat beside Harry, confused as to what to feel. The girl knew she should be relieved: babies were way out of their program, with not twenty years of age and a raging war where half-bloods were on the losing side. She did feel reassured. Regarding their affair, she couldn't mourn what she could barely remember.

Harry's behavior had come back to brotherly with seemingly no effort at all. The witch's own brain was overflowed with ideas to defeat Voldemort. Ron's romantic approaches to her were rare enough, and she was back to interacting with him much in the same way she had before. They had visited Luna's father, learned important facts, though Harry took children stories far more seriously than she herself dared to.

Since she hadn't had sex since before the bleeding, she assumed her current lack of it was due to the constant traveling and stress. Not that she had lots of time to analyze it. She needed no explanation for her persistent tiredness; the traveling was simply taking its toll. If she had had any doubts at all about her state, March's sojourn in Malfoy Manor would have wiped it off: the muggle-born herself had barely survived to the session of torture, a fetus would have had no opportunity.

Ron's cries had kept her sane through the ordeal, and the witch was grateful. She kissed him after that, for the first time. She couldn't compare it with Harry's kiss. She no longer remembered it.

That there was something she could never tell him, distressed her greatly; she had never been one to believe in relationships based on lies. Even so, her sex life before this kiss was none of his business, and she was under the impression that he, as Harry, had assumed a lot of things about Victor.

Most of the time she forgot of the flask lying in the private pocket of her bag. No one remembered that week clearly, it was as if it hadn't had happened at all.

The first time she made counts was, she believed, in those first days in Shell Cottage. From the small room the brunette shared with Luna at night, she could see Dobby's tomb. Harry was visiting, again. She smelled the salty wind and it made her feel slightly sick but otherwise she loved the feeling of freedom it evoked. The girl knew he did too.

Another month passed, and Lupin came to the cottage, announcing his son's birth. After shrieking and squealing, Hermione took a look at Harry's face as he agreed to be a godfather, and wondered ephemerally what he would think of being a dad. By then, she had a delay of two months, and had already read about implantation bleeding. It was still very surreal, she thought there was no chance she was pregnant –the bookworm, of all girls- yet simultaneously she knew the fetus must be female, since she hadn't been ovulating that day and female spermatozoids were stored longer in a woman's body. She would ponder the advantages of getting an abortion at a muggle hospital –but she didn't feel she had the right to take another human life, however small, war was already taking so many–, and at the same moment, she would feel responsible for not staying at the back of the fight, so the baby would not be injured -not to say, worried about the effect of the Polyjuice Potion on such a small creature-. Above all, the girl was on the brink of panic, and the war was no longer responsible for that.

Most of the time, her doubts were a prick on a small compartment of her very busy mind. She kept interacting with Harry and Ron much in the same way. Not the time or place to start a proper dating with Ron, which perhaps saved her much remorse. She spent more time judging the planned double-cross than she did thinking about men and babies.

May 2nd, early morning, and she couldn't sleep. The dim light underlined the small balloon into her belly, still far from reaching her navel, but noticeable. The Polyjuice Potion lied on the night table. Careful to not wake up Luna, she found the dress they had prepared, drank the potion, and went to fight a war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's such a warrior!
> 
> OK, so now we know what happened before the very first chapter of this fic.  
> But this is not the ending.  
> Next time, there'll be a choice to make.  
> There are two possible endings -kind of: one of them leads to a sequel, and is already written. The other, I must write.  
> I expect to have both of them posted at once before Christmas, so you can choose.  
> Read you soon.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to read about how you feel regarding this fic.
> 
> I go to the profile of every one of my reviewers checking for stories I might like (which makes sense because if you read this, you must like the same things I do).
> 
> Even knowing you're gonna go right to the next chapter, first I need to know how you feel about each one, if there's something to share about it.


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